Crossing
by Shikijika
Summary: Old kink meme fill. Scotland ventures across the sea to visit the discovery across the Atlantic. Also, France and young Canada.


Alastair hadn't had very many dealings with children. Or child _countries_, for that matter. He had always been too busy keeping Arthur the fuck away from his country to deal with all this 'New World' shite. He didn't like other people being in his house, it unsettled him and made him think they were going to try and invade his castles or _kill his fucking queen_.

Arthur's people could be right bastards.

But he seemed to be getting more influence in 'Great Britain', as his king had now ascended to the throne of England, so perhaps it was time to have a scope of something beyond his own lands. After all, his countrymen seemed to be having the same idea (and it might be for the best, his cynical side pointed out, reminding him that the English were never to be trusted and that this supposed 'marriage' of their countries would not end well for him).

He smiled at the little boy in front of him, kneeling down and cocking his head in an attempt to look less threatening. Not that he ever did look very intimidating – his pale skin was no longer painted blue in preparation for battle, and these days he was beginning to look rather scrawny anyway. He wished he could still wear his warpaint; those times seemed a lot easier than all of this politics shit he had to put up with now.

"Who are you?" the little boy wasted no time, evidently. He looked a little like Francis with his long, wavy blond hair and blue (not green, he noted smugly) eyes but Alastair wasn't sure what the little loose curly hair was meant to represent. Hm.

Wait, he had a question to answer! Alastair half-bounced back up onto his feet and, momentarily forgetting that common courtesy usually prevented people from proclaiming things loudly in other nation's houses (even little ones!), loudly proclaimed "Alastair Kirkland, courtier of the King of Scotland, James VI! Don't you know your countries? I'm like you."

The little country stared at him for a moment, then started sniggering behind his arm. Alastair felt slightly offended. "Hey, I'm older than you, laugh and I'll... do something naw I wouldn't hurt a tiny lad like you. Whichever one you are. America?"

"I'm Canada," came the reply, more terse than Alastair had expected. Ah, soft spot.

"Right, right, Canada. Sorry."

Canada shook his head, all animosity apparently gone. "It's okay. I always get called Alfred, anyway."

"Ahh, I ken the feeling," Alastair replied, nodding and feeling his smile become a little strained. "Younger brother? Pain in the fu-"

"- Kirkland?" Canada immediately clapped his hands over his mouth. "Sorry! But that means you know Arthur, right? And Papa?"

Alastair paused for a moment. Damn, everywhere he went he was followed by his thick-headed, arrogant, monkey-tailed shit of a little brother. "Yeah, Arthur's my little brother. He's busy being a little shite to everyone, as usual. Pardon my French."

"That's not French, that's just you swearing."

"You know what I meant, shorty."

"Didn't. And you still didn't tell me if you knew Papa."

"I'm not going to know who that is, y'know."

Alastair could've sworn that kid had just rolled his eyes. "Francis, I mean."

"Oh, right!" A light flickered on in his head. "Yes, Francis is a good friend of mine. Auld Alliance, don't ya know." (He didn't mention that they hadn't spoken much recently since the Queen's execution.)

"I think so. He said something about your queen being his queen too, or something."

"Sounds about right," Alastair sighed and sat down on the floor next to Canada, patting the young country affectionately on the head and looking down at his feet. "Not for very long, of course."

He must have sounded a lot sadder than he had intended, because the next thing he knew was a small hand patting his wiry red hair. Aw, how cute.

"Stop that."

Canada removed his hand. "Sorry."

"Alastair! _Mon chou_, what... are you doing here."

"Stop calling me that, you're making me hungry," Alastair looked up and grinned broadly at his upside-down view of Francis, who had evidently just come in and had also, evidently, not expected to see him. "Nothing bad, I'm just adventuring. Getting outside my borders, you know. Islands are lonely sometimes."

"I see. _Mathieu_, can you leave us for a moment? Please."

Alastair blinked and turned to watch Canada – Mathieu, Matthew? Made sense – nod and exit hastily, apparently just as aware as Alastair was of Francis' less-than-friendly air.

"What's got your goat?" Alastair started as soon as the door clicked shut, getting back up on his feet and brushing off invisible dust from his kilt. He was rather depressingly shorter than both his younger brothers and France, so eye contact just made him feel inadequate.

Francis clicked his tongue. "You hate leaving your islands for anything, Alastair."

"Aye, but my people are all disappearing off my land. It's nice to know that they're safe here, right?"

"You don't trust me," it seemed like more of a statement than a question. "But that is not the point – don't!"

Alastair closed his mouth, insults burning on his tongue.

"You don't need to be here. You know that any of your people emigrating here would be in safe hands. You trusted me with your infant queen, why not now?"

Francis seemed to be building up to something, but Alastair couldn't tell what. Swallowing anything rude about his ally not being entirely trustworthy when it mattered, he shrugged with "This is further than your borders. Can you blame me for being worried when I've never been here before?"

"Precisely! You know _nothing_ about this land nor how to keep it," the blond Frenchman seemed to have found his boiling point and Alastair immediately stepped back, grey eyes flicking up to finally stare up at the strange expression contorting Francis' face. "Don't try and win over my territory when you know you will only lose it again. You have a bad enough track record with your own country -"

"- I'm not trying to take your fucking colony, you arse!" Alastair's temper snapped, his fists clenching (don't hit him don't hit him he's the only person who doesn't hate you). "Do you really think I'm that nearsighted? I know what I can handle and what I can't without you hovering over my shoulder, Francis! I can look after myself!"

"With what's going on at the moment? Evidently not. You know that your king's intentions will not end well for your country's independence."

"James is an excellent king! He'll be fine! I'm there," Alastair faltered and he had the feeling Francis could see the doubt he knew was in his eyes. "And..."

Francis just watched him silently, expectantly.

"... You... I don't need you any more, and you don't need me. Remember? Our Queen is _dead_, and any alliance we should have died with her. I don't - I don't care what you think. I don't need to be here, right?"

He stormed across the room and flung open the door, hearing Francis wince as it creaked on his hinges and crashed woodenly into the wall.

Fuck.

- in 1603 after Elizabeth I of England's death, James VI of Scotland ascended to the throne of England (As James I of England) as well. He tried to claim that he was the king of 'Great Britain and Ireland' throughout his reign but the two countries were still almost completely separate until the Acts of Union in 1707.

- The Auld Alliance was basically Scotland and France agreeing to band together if England tried to invade either of their countries. It was no longer in effect during the time I set this.

- Mary Queen of Scots (the queen I mention in this, of course) was married to the Dauphin of France, Francis II. This made her the Queen Consort of France for a short time (as he died in 1560) and as she grew up there she was very attached to the country.

- there are records of Scottish immigration to the future United States around the time I set this (very early 1600s), but as far as I can tell the first immigrants to Canada came around 1621 to try and stake claim on some of the land. France was like '... wtf no' and they surrendered the land back to France in 1632.

- As somebody earlier said, Scotland is England's long-suffering older brother! Which I had realised when I posted again because I have extremely delayed reactions to things. I imagine him as a sort of grumpy, quick-tempered person who always tries hard to get himself noticed but never quite manages it. He's not polite or particularly friendly by nature, but you can always count on him to be as honest as possible. And he sends hexes to England's house through the post, of course. He's very petty.

- 'monkey-tailed' is actually a French insult towards the English. It was very popular in Scotland during James VI's reign. It's such a silly-sounding insult I had to put it in.

- 'mon chou'; my cabbage. It's apparently affectionate.


End file.
